3 Sulimé, Year 3019

We cower here, all of us in the caves. Mothers, sisters, daughters, nieces, wives. We all cling to each other, listening to the wind outside and the approaching footsteps of the orc army, coming closer and closer. It is quiet. Like the sky before a storm. A few children whimper, close to their mothers. I wish I could do that. Bury my head in my mother's breast and hold her hand. Yet I cannot. I must be the strong one this time.

The baby kicks. I can feel her inside of me, growing and waiting, just like the fear that threatens to strangle us here in the caves. I do not know if it is a boy or girl child, and I fear I may never know. Perhaps two fragile creatures lay in my womb, just as my brother and I had in my mother's. Oh, I pray not. I would not wish to bring the ruin of two lives, never to be lived, with me when I die. If I put my hand on my belly, I can feel its tiny fingers pressing against my skin.

The King's niece, Eowyn daughter of Eomund, stands alone by the wall, pacing back and forth. It irks me terribly. She is a cold distant woman, not a mothering bone in her body it seems. She believes herself to be a Shieldmaiden of old, and dreams only of glory. True she is a good leader, yet has she even stopped to notice the motherless children here crying out for a few kind words as she pushes them aside in her vain pursuit for fame and honor out on that blood stained wall that surrounds us. Though I blame her not for her restlessness. Though none of us will admit it, all the women who are huddled together here, crave a sword to fight with and to stand with our men in the heat of battle. To defend not only this fortress but our way of life.

I pray for my brothers, and for my husband. They are all out on the battlements, ready to fight as we would for our feeble race and nation. Ready to fight for their women, and their own lives. Ready to fight. Oh how I would to be out there, to battle for my mother, who weeps for her lost husband and her lost sons in the corner. To fell my own share of orcs to suffice for the death they have wrought upon my people. This is what it is to crave vengeance. I crave vengeance for the unlived lives of my children, the one in my womb and the ones who are not yet even conceived. I crave vengeance for my people, who are to be slaughtered like pigs for a feast. I crave vengeance. Oh I would to fight.

But the only weapon I hold is this pen, instead of a sword or spear. The men took all the weapons for they need them. They left us very few blades and daggers, given to the strongest among us. Yet I hold my father-in-law's dagger, hidden in my skirts. He gave it to me before he was sent to the ramparts. He told me to defend myself and my children to the end. For that is all a woman has; her children and herself.

I will have blood on my hands by the dawn. Either my own, or an orcs. I shall have what I thirst for. I shall take my revenge.

This dagger shall feel flesh.

If Dawn permits I remain,

Pellonae daughter of Penar and Callonae